The Kent family dining room was bathed in warm yellow light, casting a cozy glow over the oak table laden with a spread of hearty home-cooked dishes. The aroma of specially seasoned ribs filled the air, creamy corn chowder steamed in its bowl, and freshly baked garlic bread gleamed golden and crisp.
Lex Luthor was tearing into the meal with a gusto that shattered his usual polished, aristocratic image. Fork in his left hand, knife in his right, he moved so fast his hands were a blur. Juicy cuts of steak vanished into his mouth at an alarming rate, his cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk hoarding nuts.
"Mmm, this is so good," he mumbled through a mouthful, already spearing a third roasted potato.
Across the table, Clark, Locke, and Jonathan stared, dumbfounded. This… this wasn't the Lex they knew—the impeccably dressed, refined young man who seemed above mortal needs. The Lex before them was like a contestant fresh off a survival show, scarfing down food like a starved caveman.
Burp!
An utterly unrefined belch escaped him, but Lex just kept eating, like a refugee who hadn't seen food in days.
Jonathan wiped sweat from his brow and couldn't help himself. "Lex, what's Lionel been doing to you these past few years? Starving you like this?"
Lex shrugged, his mouth stuffed. "Nothing much. Just nutrient paste every day."
He said it so casually.
"…"
The table fell silent.
Nutrient paste? Lionel Luthor's son?
"How could Lionel do that!" Martha sighed, her heart going out to him. Flour still dusted her apron as she stood. "Lex, slow down, hon. Let me whip up some more for you."
"Thanks, Aunt Martha," Lex said, looking up with a bright, almost childlike smile, a smudge of brown gravy comically smeared on his lip.
In that moment, the deliberate air of aristocratic detachment he usually wore melted away, revealing a glimpse of the regular teenager he was beneath the flawless elite persona he'd walked in with.
Clark, watching his friend inhale the meal, quietly slid the last neatly cut piece of steak from his own plate to the edge of Lex's.
But…
"Clark," Lex chuckled, "after all that effort this afternoon, you should eat up."
"Effort?" Locke's ears perked up. He set down his water glass, his gaze darting between Clark and Lex with curiosity.
"Nothing," Lex said with a sly wink, glancing at Clark, who froze. "Just had a little car trouble. Almost interrupted Clark and his—"
"Lex!" Clark's face turned beet red, his hand trembling so hard he nearly bent his fork.
"Ahem." Lex faked a cough, seizing the moment to shovel in a scoop of mashed potatoes, his shoulders shaking suspiciously.
When the laughter died down, he set down his utensils and stood, his tone turning serious. "Clark, thank you for saving me."
"Really, thank you."
He gave a slight nod, his gratitude genuine.
Caught off guard by the formality, Clark waved his hands frantically. "N-No big deal, Lex, really, you don't have to—"
"Lex," Locke said with a gentle smile, "you saved Dio back in the day, didn't you? No need for thanks. It's what we do."
"Uncle Locke…" Lex paused, his eyes softening with nostalgia and relief. He flashed a warm smile. "You haven't changed a bit."
Kind, calm, able to see people and things for what they truly were—so unlike the calculating, domineering father Lex had known all these years.
"So, Lex," Clark said quickly, desperate to change the subject and escape his embarrassment, "are you back to visit us on behalf of Uncle Lionel?"
The table went quiet again.
Lex dabbed his mouth elegantly with a napkin, pausing before looking up with a carefree, almost roguish grin. "Nope."
He twirled his glass of juice lightly. "I just wanted to come back to Smoville, soak up some of that country life. Oh, and handle some of Lionel Enterprises' assets while I'm here. There's a chemical plant and a few banks that need looking after."
Locke frowned slightly. He knew Lex was sharp, but for Lionel to trust him with…
"What about school?" Locke asked, his tone carrying a parental concern.
Lex chuckled. "I'm done with that, Uncle Locke. Self-studied my way through."
"Don't forget, I'm three years older than Dio and Clark."
Locke slapped his forehead, laughing. "Right, my bad! You're eighteen now!"
The young man before them, tall and sharp-eyed, had shed the awkwardness of youth. He was no longer the quiet kid trailing behind Lionel.
"Exactly, eighteen," Lex said, shooting Clark a teasing smirk. "Time for me to enjoy some of those… colorful extracurriculars Clark's been getting into."
"Lex!" Clark groaned, burying his face in his hands.
Jonathan and Locke burst out laughing.
"Clark, you didn't…" Jonathan winked, dragging out his words. "You're not…"
"Sounds like he is," Locke piled on, grinning.
They'd already heard the gossip from Saraphiel.
"Saraphiel!" Clark's head snapped up, his embarrassed glare zeroing in on the black-haired boy at the far end of the table, who was trying to shrink into his chair and disappear.
"Heh…" Saraphiel gave a sheepish laugh, like a kitten caught misbehaving, and scurried to hide behind Lex for protection.
"Brother Lex," he said, his soft voice full of childish sincerity as he looked up, "that… that smoky factory. Is it yours?"
Lex blinked, glancing down at the little guy clinging to him, then nodded. "Yeah, it's under my watch for now. Why? You don't like it?"
Saraphiel nodded vigorously. "Yup!"
"Alright then," Lex said without missing a beat, as if deciding whether to add sugar to his coffee. "If Saraphiel doesn't like it, I'll shut it down when I get back."
He said it so casually, like closing a multi-million-dollar factory employing hundreds was as simple as flipping a light switch.
"Lex, you…" Locke rubbed his temples, feeling a headache coming on.
That factory was a major polluter, sure, but it was also a cornerstone of Lionel Enterprises in Smoville, supporting a chunk of the town's economy. Nearly a fifth of local jobs were tied to it, directly or indirectly. When it was built, it had been a lifeline for unemployed farmers.
"It's fine, Uncle Locke," Lex said, his smile carrying a maturity beyond his years. "That's Lionel Enterprises' problem, not mine."
He set down his napkin, his tone calm but firm. "As for the jobs, don't worry. I've got a better solution."
"I'm going to build a new, clean, high-efficiency tech center here. It'll create more jobs—better ones."
"That's still reckless," Locke argued, trying to reason. "Hundreds of livelihoods are at stake. It takes time to—"
"I'm with you, Lex!" Jonathan suddenly slammed the table, grinning. "That's the spirit! I've been sick of that sewage-dumping factory for years. If it wasn't for Lionel, I'd have been out front picketing ages ago. Shut it down!"
"…"
Locke shot his brother a frustrated look. This guy, always stirring the pot.
Before he could say more, Martha emerged from the kitchen with a steaming blueberry pie. "Here, Lex, try some of my special blueberry pie."
"Thanks, Aunt Martha!" Lex's smile warmed instantly, as if the guy who'd just casually decided a factory's fate wasn't him at all.
Alright, fine.
Locke watched the lively scene around the table and decided to let it go. His eyes settled on Lex, who was laughing and chatting, looking relaxed and even a bit boyish in the Kent family's warmth. Locke felt a pang of emotion.
This kid had changed—grown more decisive, more his own man.
But as he forked a bite of sweet blueberry pie into his mouth, Locke couldn't help but chuckle. Looking at the laughing faces around him, he thought: Who here is still the same as I remember?
---
The scene shifts to the Iceberg Lounge, Gotham's most extravagant nightclub, where a wild spectacle was unfolding.
Spotlights sliced through the dimness, bathing the blond teen at the center of the stage in a dazzling halo.
Dio stood like a king, arms crossed, his lean silhouette sharp against the light.
"Diego! Diego!" The crowd in the dance floor erupted, their screams rising like waves.
The usually poised and elegant socialites had thrown all restraint out the window. Teetering in Christian Louboutin heels, waving Chanel clutches, their perfectly made-up faces were alight with frenzy. Some even tore their thousand-dollar silk gowns just to get closer to the stage.
Dio tilted his head slightly, his crimson eyes scanning the manic crowd, a faint smirk playing on his lips.
Being the center of attention? Not half bad.
Beside him, Lady Elana's cheeks were flushed, her breathing quick. The social queen, known for her icy demeanor, was acting like a flustered schoolgirl. Strands of her carefully pinned-up hair had come loose, and her diamond earrings sparkled wildly as she swayed.
"So… amazing…" she murmured, her crimson-manicured fingers clutching her sleeve.
The thrill of being envied by every woman in the room, of standing in the spotlight—it sent a flush through her silk-draped skin.
Elana Falcone felt like a queen.
---